


Light From Dead Stars

by cycnus39



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-07 15:36:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1121575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cycnus39/pseuds/cycnus39
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harvey can't tell the past from the future and Bruce doesn't want to see the truth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Light From Dead Stars

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place about ten years before my Bruce/Clark stories and shortly before my Bruce/Tony stories.

Harvey was already there when he arrived.

He didn’t know what to make of that, just followed the maitre d' across the crowded restaurant floor to Harvey’s secluded booth near the fire exit corridor.

“Bruce, I’m glad you could make it,” Harvey greeted him warmly, standing up to take his hand as he reached the table.

He knew it was an act for the maitre d’, and anyone else watching, but he played along anyway, shook Harvey’s hand with a smile then sat down in the small, horseshoe-shaped booth inches away from Harvey.

“We’ll have the quail followed by the venison,” Harvey said before the maitre d' could give them the menus. “And a bottle of the Cabernet Sauvignon will be all,” Harvey finished before the maitre d' could make any suggestions.

“Very good, sir,” the maitre d' concluded smoothly then made good his escape.

He was still watching the maitre d' hurry off across the floor towards the kitchens when Harvey growled, “I don’t know why you wanted to meet here when your apartment would have been much more convenient.”

Turning his head, he met Harvey’s gaze. “More convenient for whom?”

“I told you that’s not going to happen again.”

“You also told me you’d keep your appointments with Doctor Naylor.”

“Yeah, well, that was before I found out I didn’t have any use for her.”

“Because you don’t need any help?”

Shrugging, Harvey sat back against the rear of the booth. “Maybe I don’t. Maybe it was just the stress like I said.”

“You know that’s not true.”

“Do I?” Harvey snapped, leaning violently towards him. “What about you?”

“I’m not arguing about this.”

“No, you just make decrees from your ivory tower.”

“We agreed you’d see Doctor Naylor.”

“That was before I found out she’s a quack.”

“Then you should have found another doctor, Harvey. That was our agreement.”

“But I only need you, baby.” Harvey leaned in close and he felt Harvey’s right hand move between his legs to begin stroking up and down the inside of his left thigh. “All I need is you back where you belong.”

“And where’s that?” he asked, then winced as Harvey’s fingers dug into his gracilis muscle.

“Stop being a brat! You know I love you.” Harvey petted his thigh soothingly then started stroking it again. “Why are you being so difficult?”

“I’m not being difficult and this isn’t about me.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No.”

“Last time I looked, I wasn’t the one taking in twelve-year-old kids in an attempt to save myself from something that happened fifteen years ago.”

“It’s nothing to do with that and he’s only one boy,” he snapped, pushing Harvey’s hand away.

“A circus kid you’ve no connection with. You could have paid--”

“Don’t,” he growled, and Harvey sat back in the booth again, looked across the room at the approaching waiters.

As the wine waiter completed the usual tasting performance with Harvey, he thanked the table waiter for the quail and refused the offer of extra sauce.

“I’m sorry, okay?” Harvey said softly as the waiters left. “I was only making the point that neither of us are perfect.” Harvey picked up his fork and impaled some quail. “You have issues but I’m not forcing you to go to a shrink.”

“If I suffered from uncontrollable rages I’d expect you to,” he returned before taking a sip of wine. It was good. Harvey always chose the best.

Leaving the quail untasted, Harvey put down his fork. “You’re fucking Stark, aren’t you?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

“But you want to.”

“I don’t.”

“He wants to fuck you.”

Not wanting to talk about Tony, he picked up his wine glass and took a deep drink. It was still good but he knew he shouldn’t have any more.

“So you’re denying he wants you?”

“You agreed you needed help, Harvey,” he said as he put the wine glass down then pushed it away. “You promised you’d at least finish an initial course of treatment. If you don’t--”

“What makes Stark so special? You know he’ll fuck anything with a pulse.”

“I told you Tony’s just a friend.”

“Yeah, but for how long?” Harvey leaned in close to snarl at him, “I see your sick little game. You’re pretending to care, pretending to help me, but you’re really just laying down ultimatums so you can run off and fuck Stark with a clear conscience.”

He couldn’t take that, couldn’t look at Harvey anymore, closed his eyes and turned away, listened to the sound of people dining around him until Harvey gently touched his left forearm.

“I didn’t mean that. You know I didn’t mean that. It’s just-- Christ! Can’t we go somewhere without a fucking audience?”

“You know that’s not an option.” He turned to face Harvey again. “And you know why.”

“How many times do I have to say I’m sorry?” Harvey demanded, but then caressed his forearm through the sleeve of his jacket apologetically. “I won’t do it again, baby, I swear.”

“Only because I won’t let you.”

“You see? That’s exactly what I’m talking about. You’re hurt and angry and I don’t blame you for that but you’re letting it cloud your judgement. Because I hurt you, you want to hurt me back. You want to punish me for what I did, but don’t you think we’ve both been punished enough? These past few months were Hell without you, baby. I’m not going pretend any different and I know you won’t either, so why don’t we just stop this? Don’t you want things back the way they were?”

No.

The answer was no and he lost his breath as the realisation that he didn’t want Harvey back hit him like a 60 mph hook kick to the side of the head.

He had been wrong.

He had thought he knew what he wanted, had thought he wanted Harvey, but being with Harvey now after all those weeks apart made him realise he was wrong. As much as he loved Harvey, would always love Harvey, he didn’t love being with Harvey anymore, didn’t like the way Harvey made him feel, didn’t like the claustrophobic, possessive--

“Bruce?” Harvey squeezed his forearm and tried to catch his eye. “What’s wrong, baby? I said I don’t blame you. I only want to put all this behind us.”

He said nothing, just looked down at Harvey’s hand, watched the bones and muscles move as Harvey caressed his forearm, wondered what it would be like to never have Harvey touch him again.

No. He didn’t want that, didn’t want to live in a world without Harvey’s touch, without Harvey’s warmth, without Harvey’s love.

He didn’t.

“Come on, you look like you could use some air,” Harvey said, moving out of the booth. Then he was leaving the booth too, was following Harvey across the restaurant floor, walking down the fire exit corridor. But instead of going straight ahead to the fire exit, Harvey turned left down a short corridor and pushed open another outside door.

At first he thought it was another fire exit, that they were just around the corner from the main fire exit alleyway, but he was wrong. As he stepped into the cool night air after Harvey, he realised they were in a tiny, Japanese tea garden.

“Didn’t know this was here, did you?” Harvey asked while leading him over the steppingstones, past the stone water basin, to the raised edge of the perfectly decorated little tearoom. “Well, the restaurant couldn’t build it fast enough when they heard there were Japanese bankers needing to be wined and dined.”

“Or tea-ed as the case may be,” he added as he reached Harvey, and then he was caught in Harvey’s embrace, captured by the sweetest of soft kisses.

He knew he shouldn’t kiss Harvey back, shouldn’t deepen the kiss, shouldn’t bring his arms up around Harvey and pull him in so desperately close, but he had to. He didn’t know if this would be the last time he would ever kiss Harvey like this, didn’t want to know, just memorised Harvey’s scent, Harvey’s warmth and strength and never wanted to let go.

“We can finish that later,” Harvey laughed, easing back to kiss him on the forehead before moving away. “Let’s grab a seat and you can tell me what’s bothering you,” Harvey went on, sitting down on the edge of the tearoom’s tatami matting. “If it’s about the Stark thing, don’t worry about it. I know he’s not really your type.”

Actually, Tony did appeal to him and he didn’t think he had a ‘type’ but wasn’t about to open that billionaire genius can of worms again. Harvey’s basic distrust of anything connected with wealth and privilege became paranoid hatred when he felt threatened and keeping Harvey in a benevolent mindset was the only way forward.

As he sat down beside Harvey, close enough for Harvey to wrap one arm around him and rest the other hand on his knee, he wanted to tell Harvey that he loved him but that love wasn’t enough because he couldn’t help him. But he said nothing, just looked up at the stars watching them from the night sky as Harvey spoke again.

“It’s a beautiful night, baby, so clear you can almost see the future.”

“Past,” he corrected quietly. “Most of those stars are dead by the time we see their light.”

“Cheer up, Bruce!” Harvey kissed him by his ear. “They’re still beautiful.”

“It’s not true what you said about me wanting to hurt you,” he returned, looking Harvey in the eye. “I never wanted to punish you.”

“I know, baby. It’s okay.” Harvey pulled him in tight and kissed him again. “We can act like it never happened.”

“But if you know I wasn’t trying to punish you then you know I really do think you--”

“Stop it. Just stop talking, baby, okay?”

“But you have to--”

“Damn it, Bruce, just shut up!” Harvey growled, leaning away to hold his head in his hands then scrub his fingers through his hair. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“What am I doing? If you know I’m not trying to punish you, what am I doing?”

“I don’t need a damned shrink!” Harvey stood up and paced out onto the pool of small, black stones that were supposed to represent water but looked more like a mirror for the night sky under the stars. “I only need things to be back the way they were.”

“You’re erratic, paranoid, and did you even notice you bruised my thigh in there?”

“Oh, baby, don’t,” Harvey pleaded, walking over to crouch down in front of him and stroke his knees soothingly. “I know it was bad for a while but I can fix it. Don’t do this to me.”

Bringing his hands up, he cupped Harvey’s face, thumbed Harvey’s cheekbones, looked into Harvey’s eyes and knew he didn’t want to lose Harvey as sure as he knew he was losing Harvey already.

“I love you,” he said softly, “but I can’t help you. No one can help you until you help yourself.”

“Help myself,” Harvey grunted, moving away to slump down on the stone on his left and lean back against the edge of the tearoom floor. “Yeah, as if anyone else has ever helped me.” Harvey looked dully across the garden at the array of stone lanterns by the restaurant door. “You don’t know what it’s like to have nothing, to be told you’ll amount to nothing. I had to fight for everything I have, every single thing, and I’m not giving up now.”

“I’m not saying you have to give up anything,” he replied, sitting down on the stone beside Harvey. “I’m saying you need to get help so you can stop losing your temper and doing things you don’t want to. Don’t you think--”

“Forget it, Bruce.”

“Harvey--”

“I said no.” Harvey met his gaze, determined and resolute. “It’s not happening and that’s final.”

“I can’t--” He lost his voice as his abruptly hammering heart moved up into his throat and he couldn’t breathe, suddenly felt as if the garden was spinning sickeningly around him. “Then I can’t see you.”

“If that’s what you want.”

“It’s not what I want.”

“So why are you forcing this?”

“It’s what we agreed!” He rolled to his feet and glared down at Harvey. “Why can’t you--”

“Just go already,” Harvey sighed. “Run home to your bank balance and have your butler tell you I was no-good from the start. The old nag should enjoy that.”

He wanted to argue further but couldn’t, wanted to walk away but couldn’t, found himself trapped between Harvey and the stars, waiting for Harvey to change his mind. But Harvey said nothing, did nothing, just sat silently on the ground looking at the pool of black stones, and he had no idea what Harvey was seeing in the stones, had no idea what Harvey was thinking, had to turn away, had to leave, had to walk out the garden without another word.

He must have left the restaurant by the fire exit but he didn’t remember hearing the alarm. He only remembered walking down Playfair Avenue with the vague idea of heading to the park. But he never got to the park. Somewhere along McDuffie, he caught a cab and then the streets of Gotham were blurring past him until the long drive over Memorial Bridge.

A few minutes later, the cab had stopped in front of the house and Alfred was there, paying the driver and then shepherding him up the steps into the entrance hall.

“I’m gratified to see you home, sir. Young Master Dick was rather a handful while you were away. I put him to bed some time ago but I’m afraid he won’t settle without seeing you.”

“Swinging on the chandeliers again?”

“Indeed, sir.”

“Fine. I’ll deal with it,” he told Alfred then headed up the stairs while Alfred turned towards the kitchen.

He had barely reached the top of the stairs when he heard the creaks and groans from the chandelier in Dick’s room. Sometimes it seemed the boy was allergic to the floor. And his bed. Considering banning Alfred from making any more of those hideously sugary treats Dick seemed to live on, he walked down the corridor and opened Dick’s bedroom door to find the boy hanging from the chandelier by his knees.

“You’re back!” Dick squeaked before flipping neatly to the floor and running at him full tilt.

He didn’t think about his reaction, just caught the boy’s skinny little body in a hug and then turned him upside down to pretend to examine his feet by the weak light from the bedside lamp. “I don’t see any weeping sores.”

“Weeping sores?” Dick giggled. “I don’t have any weeping sores!”

“So why don’t you walk on the floor like everyone else?” he asked, flipping Dick back around. “And why can’t you go to sleep?” he continued, carrying Dick over to his bed.

“Floors and sleep are boring,” Dick argued cheekily. “I’m staying awake so I can train and help you take down more bad guys like Zucco.”

“Floors and sleep aren’t boring,” he corrected, tucking Dick into bed. “Agitating Alfred is boring and I already told you I decide the training schedule.”

“But it’s going so slow.” Dick pouted up at him. “And I’m already fast enough and strong enough to put down half the goons you do. You said so.”

“I also said goons get lucky,” he returned, sitting down on the edge of the mattress and pushing the boy’s hair out of his eyes. “You need more training so the goons have less chance of getting lucky and less chance of putting you down. Understand?”

“I guess.” Dick pouted again, but then quickly brightened. “Hey, can Alfred help me make my suit tomorrow?”

“As long as he gives you a haircut first.” He ruffled the boy’s thick head of hair then stood up and turned off the bedside lamp. “Now go to sleep or there will be no suits and no training.”

“And no haircut?”

“Not on your life. I want Dick Grayson in my house not some hairy chandelier monkey.”

“Okay,” Dick laughed. “I’ll be a non-hairy chandelier monkey.”

“In your monkey dreams,” he said over his shoulder while walking for the door. “Good night, Dick.”

“Aaa ooo eee,” Dick giggled back as he closed the door.

Standing in the corridor, he waited until he heard the boy settling down to sleep before heading off to his own bedroom.

His original plan was to get a few hours sleep before suiting up and heading out in the newly refitted car, but that plan seemed to belong to a stranger now, to someone he wasn’t anymore. It was as if-- No. Things may have changed for him but they hadn’t changed for Gotham. Gotham still needed him. And he could help Gotham.

His course of action clear, he crossed his bedroom floor to the bathroom stripping off his clothes as he went. All he needed to do was stick to the plan. All he needed to do was--

His determined train of thought slammed into a concrete block of reality when he came to stand naked in front of the sink and saw himself in the waist length mirror looking as lost and alone as he had in the alley.

He was no hero.

“Your supper tray is on the bedside cabinet, Master Bruce,” Alfred said softly from the doorway before walking into the bathroom and picking up one of his silk robes from the shelf behind the door. “I do hope a plate of chicken salad sandwiches and a nice pot of sweet tea will appeal,” Alfred continued, helping him on with his robe. “If not, I can--”

“The sandwiches and tea will be fine,” he replied, wrapping the robe around and tying the belt. “Thank you, Alfred.”

“Very good, sir.”

For a moment, he thought Alfred was going to say something else, but then Alfred turned away, walked back into the bedroom.

Moving to the doorway, he watched Alfred picking his clothes up from the floor for a moment before saying, “I told Dick he can ask you to help him with his suit tomorrow so he should stay off the chandeliers until it’s done. I can’t swear he won’t go exploring the roof again, though.”

“I wouldn’t mind him ‘exploring’ the roof if he refrained from performing handstands on the weathervanes.” Alfred picked the last piece of clothing off the floor then straightened up to face him. “I trust that since you are letting Master Dick have his costume that you are going to take him out soon and give him a short, sharp lesson on why fighting crime is not for young boys?”

“I told you that won’t work,” he replied low, taking off his watch as he walked up to Alfred. “If I take him out with me, it will only make him even more determined.” He handed Alfred his watch and then walked away, sat down on the edge of the bed and eyed his supper tray without enthusiasm.

“So what’s the alternative?” Alfred walked over to stand beside him. “Put the boy off with training until he gets so tired of waiting he runs off and does himself an injury? You know he won’t wait much longer, Master Bruce, and you know I would never suggest such a course of action lightly. I truly believe that letting him experience the harsh reality of the Bowery for himself is the only way to rid him of this obsession. I understand your protective feelings towards the boy, of course I do, but, in this instance, you really must be cruel to be kind.”

He shook his head. “It’s not only because I don’t want to see him hurt. It’s because life’s never taught him to be scared and give up. Yes, his parents taught him to know his limitations but they also taught him about acceptable risk and, above all, they taught him to trust his partner won’t fail him and to never, ever fail his partner in return. If I take him out, his biggest fear will be failing me so he’ll never give up no matter the risk. I can’t put him in that position, Alfred. I can’t and I won’t.”

“And what if you’re wrong?” Alfred insisted. “You don’t see how he broods when you are away. I fear that the next night will be one night too many and he’ll chase after you blindly into harm’s way.”

“I know it’s a serious risk and I understand your concerns, but it’s a risk worth taking because this way there is at least a chance of him changing his mind. There are a host of opportunities for a boy with his talents, Alfred, and I’ve already spoken to him about professional gymnastics.”

“Professional gymnastics,” Alfred repeated dryly. “If you think so, sir.”

Watching Alfred walk away to busy himself in the walk-in closet, he realised he wanted Harvey.

Maybe he had handled it all wrong. Maybe if he had explained things differently, been a little more-- No. The choice had been Harvey’s all along.

Pushing up the hem of his robe, he looked down at the fresh bruise Harvey had made on the inside of his left thigh. It wasn’t large or particularly sore, but it didn’t get there accidentally no matter what Harvey wanted him to believe.

Control.

Control was the crux of the matter.

Tracing his right index finger around the edge of the bruise, he considered the idea that he had wanted Harvey to dominate him from the start. He had never minded Harvey’s constant manipulations and he had certainly enjoyed the rough sex even when Harvey had been a little too rough. Had that given Harvey the wrong idea? Was it the wrong idea?

“I’m sorry, Master Bruce,” Alfred said softly, and he blinked, looked up and saw Alfred was standing by the bedside cabinet pouring him a cup of tea. “While Mister Dent would not have been my first choice for--”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he growled, suddenly unreasonably angry at the fact that Harvey had been right, that Alfred had never liked Harvey, had never wanted him to be with Harvey and would be happy it was over. “Good night, Alfred.”

“I...good night, sir.”

Alfred put down the pot of tea and walked away, but he couldn’t leave it like that, had to say something more before Alfred left the room.

“He’s not what you think,” he managed to get out and Alfred paused by the door to listen. “You didn’t see him that night on Lawson Street when he made a thousand people believe in themselves. A thousand people, Alfred, and he could do it for the whole city.”

Alfred said nothing, just stood for a moment longer before walking out the room and closing the door silently behind him.

Ignoring the supper tray, he took off his robe and slipped between the sheets, but the only thing more uncomfortable than his mattress was his mind. Neither would give him rest, neither would give him peace. Hours seemed to stagger past until he finally fell asleep. At least he assumed he had fallen asleep because then he was waking up into deep darkness and there was someone else in the room.

Still half asleep, he assumed it was Dick, was about to tell the boy he could sleep in his bed if he liked but he couldn’t go into the city with him, when he realised the figure by the side of the bed was crouching and was far too large to be Dick, was even too large to be--

“I’m sorry,” Harvey said -- and he was wide-awake with his heart pounding in his mouth, unable to think or move as Harvey stroked his face then kissed him. “I didn’t mean it, baby. I’ll see Naylor if you want me to. I promise.”

“What--”

“Please, baby, please.” Harvey continued to stroke his face despite him elbowing up and away from Harvey’s kisses. “Just tell me what you want and I’ll do it.”

“Do you think I wanted you to break into my house?”

“I know, I’m sorry, but I had to see you.”

“How did you get in?”

“The kitchen door. The lock gave in easy and I used your code on the alarm, but I’ll get it fixed, don’t worry. You don’t have to worry about anything because I’ll do it for you. I swear I’ll do anything you want.”

“Harvey--”

“Please, baby, just say it.”

In the darkness, he couldn’t see Harvey’s face, but he could hear the waver in Harvey’s voice, feel the tremble in Harvey’s fingers and he never wanted to bring Harvey to this, had to catch Harvey’s hand, kiss Harvey back, pull Harvey into a tight embrace.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Harvey mumbled into his shoulder then kissed his neck. “I’ll see Naylor. I’ll see anyone you want me to.”

“Yes, see her, but do it for yourself,” he replied, forcing Harvey far enough away so he could hold Harvey’s face in his hands. “It only works if you do it for yourself.”

“So I’ll do it for myself too.” Harvey stroked his face and kissed him again. “I don’t care as long as I have you.”

“But you’re the one who matters. You have to decide it’s what you need.”

“I know I need you. Isn’t that enough?”

“No.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Harvey--”

“Bruce, please.”

“Listen to me. I love you and I’ll always be your friend but we can’t go back to how we were. You have to--”

Harvey’s mouth pressed him into silence but it was the touch of Harvey’s tear against his cheek that broke him, broke everything, made him cling to Harvey, return the kiss, pretend the world was a different place one last time.

“Everything will be fine, you’ll see,” Harvey told him between fevered kisses. “I’ll make an appointment to see Naylor next week and everything will be fine.”

“Next week? I’ll get you an appointment for tomorrow. Doctor Naylor keeps--”

“I’m busy tomorrow.”

“In the evening, Harvey. I can--”

“I told you I’m busy.” Harvey kissed him again. “Just let me handle it, baby, okay?”

“But--”

Harvey kissed him into silence again, but this time there was no rush of love, no hope, no bind faith, because this time he knew it was over. Harvey was never going to make that appointment, was never going to keep that appointment, and it was over.

“I can stay the night if you like,” Harvey told him with another kiss, “but I’ll have to--”

“It’s over,” he blurted out in a voice that didn’t sound like his and, during the few seconds of silence that followed, part of him hoped it hadn’t been him, but then he had to make sure, had to say it again. “It’s over, Harvey. We agreed that you had to see a doctor. You said you would but you didn’t. I’m sorry.”

“But I-I’ll make the appointment,” Harvey stammered, and it was the first time he’d heard Harvey falter, the first time he’d heard Harvey sound so bewildered. “I’ll go next week.”

“No you won’t.” He brought his hands up to stroke Harvey’s face regretfully as he remembered Harvey’s determination in the tea garden. “You know you won’t.”

Harvey didn’t argue, just grew still beneath his touch, didn’t move, didn’t even seem to breathe.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I didn’t mean to--” He broke off as Harvey abruptly stood away from the bed.

“How long have you been fucking Stark?”

“Harvey--”

“HOW LONG?”

“I haven’t! You know I haven’t.”

“No? Well, let’s look at the evidence,” Harvey sniped back. “In the past few weeks, you’ve spent more time in New York than you have in Gotham.”

“That’s not true.”

“Liar! Stark told me to my face you were at his apartment four days out of seven the week before last.”

“We were discussing a business proposition.”

“Yeah, one of you was doing some propositioning.”

“He’s my friend, Harvey.”

“He’s a horny little mutt that fucks anything that moves and you’ve been making a play for him like a rich bitch on heat!”

“Harvey--”

“What? What do you want? For me to keep my voice down so the butler and the brat don’t hear what a SCHEMING LITTLE WHORE YOU ARE?”

“Enough!” He threw off the bedcovers and rolled out of bed to stand toe-to-toe with Harvey. “You know I haven’t had sex with Tony because you know I love you.”

“Do I?” Harvey snarled in his face so ferociously he had to take a step back. “Is that why you’re always punishing me? Always trying to make me weak, trying to get me on my knees?”

“I don’t-- I never wanted you weak,” he blundered out in confusion. “I only wanted you well.”

“Yeah, and I believe you because your track record proves you’re not a LYING LITTLE WHORE!” Harvey roared at him, but before he could even think about defending himself, Harvey put up his hands and stepped back in surrender. “Fine. I’m done with you. You were never worth my time anyway.”

Harvey turned his back on him, was walking away from him, and he wanted to say something, say anything that would make Harvey understand, but he couldn’t speak, could barely breathe past the unbearable weight pushing down on his chest. Then Harvey was out of sight, was talking to Alfred in the corridor, telling Alfred he was leaving, and he didn’t quite hear Alfred’s response, couldn’t hear much past his heart thundering in his ears, but got the impression that Alfred was moving away, following Harvey down the stairs, letting Harvey out the front door.

When Alfred didn’t come back upstairs immediately, he thought Alfred must have been securing the downstairs doors and windows, a thought confirmed when he heard the security shutters slam down. It was then he realised that Alfred had probably retrieved the shotgun out of the gun locker, wasn’t surprised when Alfred walked into his bedroom holding the antique, break-action Elkhart over his left forearm.

“Mister Dent has gone and the house is secure, Master Bruce. Shall I--”

“That’s fine, Alfred. Please check on Dick then go back to bed.”

“I...very good, sir,” Alfred replied softly then silently left the room.

Standing alone in the darkness, he felt empty, bone dry, paper thin, as if the slightest breeze would shred him to pieces and scatter him over Gotham like ruined confetti. But he had to move, had to go down to the cave, had to shower, had to put on the suit, had to climb into the car and drive out into the night under the dead stars.

 

 

End


End file.
